Mass Effect: Revolution
by jtav
Summary: Miranda leaned over her desk. "What if you could demystify the biggest black box of all? What if you could study these benevolent Reapers, discover how they think and what they can do? To know how to fight them if they ever stop being friendly?"
1. Part 1

Shepard sat hunched on the couch. Day-old stubble covered his face, and his dark hair was dangerously close to exceeding regulation length. His jacket and shirt were rumpled, as if he'd slept in them. Traynor wrinkled her nose. It smelled like he'd slept in them, too. She'd been enthralled as everyone else by the gleaming, polished Marine the Alliance used for recruitment ads. And in the beginning, he had gleamed. Commander Shepard was always ready with a kind word and a daring plan to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Until there had been no miraculous way out and he'd been forced to kill both Wrex and Mordin to prevent the krogan from overrunning the galaxy. And then Rannoch, watching as the quarians threw themselves into a suicidal attack against the geth. Thessia, knowing that the asari had had the power to prepare the galaxy for the Reapers but chose not to use it. And now Sanctuary. It wore him down. He was, perhaps, still a hero, but no longer an icon.

"Specialist," he said. His voice was slightly slurred with exhaustion. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Traynor started. She didn't know him nearly as well as Garrus or Joker, but there was some camaraderie there. He had convinced her that a lab tech could make a meaningful contribution on a warship, and she had stayed up playing chess with him on the nights that he couldn't sleep. And he sounded for all the world like a little boy who wanted to be reassured that his mum still loved him after he broke her prize vase. "Of course, sir."

He relaxed the tiniest fraction. "Good. I assume you know that Miranda is on board."

Traynor did know. The whole crew knew that the infamous second-in-command of Cerberus had come aboard the Normandy for medical treatment after shutting down the Sanctuary camp and delivering the location of the Illusive Man's base of operations. Everyone had an opinion. Campbell and Westmoreland were suspicious that it was some Cerberus trap. Joker was pleased in his ironic way. Navigator Horowitz had lost her husband on Akuze and was livid that the "Hound of Hell" was in the medbay instead of the brig. And Traynor? She didn't know the woman well enough to have feelings.

No, that wasn't quite true. She had seen the photographs in Miranda's dossier, that cold, commanding stare that made you strengthen your shoulders and smooth the wrinkles from your shirt. She was beautiful in the way a fairytale princess was beautiful. Traynor could almost imagine Shepard tying her favor to his gun as he slaughtered a horde of husks in her name. She had decrypted Miranda's messages for him, and she hadn't been able to resist sneaking a peek. Anxiety and resolve had simmered just beneath her words. She knew that Shepard had delayed his mission to Sur'Kesh by days simply to speak with her, but that Garrus had had to beg him to meet her after Rannoch. She knew that Miranda Lawson, whatever else she was, was the woman who had saved Horizon twice.

"I know, sir."

"She's dying of boredom, but Chakwas we won't release her. I know you're off-duty, but I was hoping that you'd keep her company for a while." He smiled at her, but his grin was just a bit too broad. "She's a really good chess player. The one that taught me, as a matter of fact."

"Well, that doesn't say much for her chess skills, does it?" Traynor asked with a smile. "I'd think you would be monopolizing her. Making up for lost time."

He rubbed the back of his neck as his shoulders slumped. "I—I'd love to. But I get to spend the day yelling at the salarian fleet commander. He doesn't like Hackett's plan of attack. Jackass thinks it puts a disproportionate amount of pressure on his men. As if we all aren't fighting and dying. I spend more time trying to make my so-called friends listen than I do fighting the enemy. No time for fun and games." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'll be so glad when this war is over. Please, just do me this one little favor. Please."

Traynor didn't have the heart to tell him no.

She picked up her chess set and headed to the medlab. It was blissfully unfamiliar territory, the place other people went after nearly getting themselves killed. The smell of antiseptic stung her nose. Chakwas was gone, but datapads and papers were neatly stacked on her desk. The sole occupant of the infirmary rose from her chair when she approached.

The photographs hadn't done Miranda Lawson justice. Fairytale princesses were fake, a construct dreamed up by an illustrator to appeal to kids and the overly romantic. Miranda was, well, real. No illustrator would make the blush on her cheeks that faint or think to add the subtle gradients of skin tone. Her hair was raggedly cut, but thick and dark. Probably lustrous when she had time to take care of it. The sort you would want to run your fingers through. Her jacket and tights were almost identical to EDI's uniform, but it clung to Miranda the way it never did EDI. Miranda was thinner than she had been in the photographs, but she was still all curves and lean muscle. No wonder Donnelly waxed nostalgic about her time as XO. If Traynor had been in Shepard's place, she wouldn't have waited a moment to see Miranda again and explore those curves for herself.

And perhaps it was better to stop that train of thought before she made a fool of herself. Ogling your commanding officer's girlfriend had to be against some regulation.

Miranda's lips twitched. "How nice to know that I can still command attention even in my current state."

Well, before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Heat flooded her cheeks. "I'm sorry. How terribly inappropriate of me. I'll just…"

Miranda held up a hand. "It's not your fault. Well, no more than it is anyone else's. I was designed to, ah, elicit a reaction." Her voice was clipped and aristocratic, but Traynor was fairly certain that her accent was natural and not the result of long hours with a VI diction coach like hers. "And it's worth it to finally meet the famous comm specialist Samantha Traynor."

Traynor was so surprised that she forgot to be humiliated. "You know who I am?"

Miranda nodded. "J—Commander Shepard talked about you. Thank you for keeping him sane in my absence. Is he coming, by the way, or are you and Chakwas's to be my only company?" For the first time, she didn't sound cold or ironic. She sounded hopeful.

"I'm sorry. He has a meeting coordinating strategy for the assault on Cronos." Traynor cringed inwardly. She sounded like Shepard's personal assistant.

Miranda flinched as if she'd been stung by a mosquito. "Of course. The mission has to come first. We'll have plenty of time to catch up later."

"He asked me to keep you company." She flushed again. "I quite understand if you don't want to spend time with the person who can't seem to go five seconds without losing her mind." She held up the chess set. "I'll just leave this here. You can trounce Shepard at your leisure once he comes back."

"Stay." Her voice was quietly authoritative, and Traynor found herself standing still without the need to smooth her uniform. Miranda smiled again. It wasn't obviously false like Shepard's, but it was small and tense. Tentative, as if she were trying to practice for the real thing. "I haven't had a real opponent in a long time. Why don't we play a game?" She raised an eyebrow and her voice was all irony again. "That is, unless Shepard was exaggerating your skill. You probably couldn't keep up with me."

That did it. Traynor had never been able to resist a challenge, even from beautiful women that made her temporarily misplace her brain. "White or black?" she growled.

Traynor spent the first few moves as she did in all games with unfamiliar opponents: studying their strengths and weaknesses and figuring out their strategy. Miranda was a cautious player. She left few openings, and those she did would require Traynor to sacrifice an even more valuable piece. Rook for knight and queen for rook. Unlike Shepard, she didn't seem to know the meaning of the word _charge._ It threw Traynor off balance. She preferred to let her opponent be the initial aggressor and capitalize on the inevitable mistake. It was going to be a long game.

Miranda lost her queen's bishop twenty minutes into the match. She frowned at the interface, and Traynor thought that maybe she had finally found a chink in her armor. But Miranda's next words weren't about chess. "I understand that you're the one who tracked Leng's shuttle to Sanctuary. I suppose that means I owe you my life."

Traynor shrugged. Her work was fascinating and fulfilling, but it felt strange to think of it as life-saving. "Shepard's the one you should thank. He's the one who fought through the husks."

"And you are the one that led him there. The small, subtle action that reaps great rewards later. I spent my entire adult life doing that. Letting you capture my bishop, so my knight can take your rook." She exchanged the pieces mechanically. "Steal the right schematics so that humanity can make a breakthrough in biotics. Bribe the right functionary so that an election goes one way and not another. Bring a man back from the dead so that he'll one day stop the Collectors and save the galaxy twice over." She bowed her head, and tension roiled through her shoulders. "But it turns out the results aren't what I thought they would be," she said softly.

What did she say to that? Sanctuary made Miranda a war hero by anyone's definition, and the science behind Lazarus made Traynor want to rub her hands in glee just thinking about it. They were only heading to Cronos because of her quick thinking and courage. But Cerberus would not be so formidable now if the Hound of Hell had not been keeping it running for nearly two decades. Miranda was wanted for terrorism and other crimes by the Alliance, and only necessity kept her free. Traynor didn't know how to balance something like that or if it could be.

"We'll catch the bastard yet. I promise you," Traynor said at last. Anger was still an unfamiliar emotion, but she could muster some for the man who had ordered Henry Lawson to turn her home into a death camp. "We'll burn Cerberus to the ground. Spit on the ashes."

"Ashes?" Miranda asked thoughtfully. "The thing about ashes is that they have a habit of giving birth to phoenixes." She moved her queen. "And Specialist Traynor?"

"Yes?"

"Check."

_Six months later_

The Phoenix Group building had been spared by the Reaper invasion. The gleaming tower cut through the skies of the resort town of Coffs Harbour. Henry Lawson had attracted the best scientific minds Earth had to offer by locating his headquarters among some of the best surfing and beaches on the planet. Pale white sand and clear blue water that washed the dirt and grime of everyday life right off. It was almost like New Eden, only with indoor plumbing.

Traynor glanced upward. Well, maybe it wasn't exactly like New Eden. A Sovereign-class Reaper loomed in the sky above. The skycars eddied and flowed around it the way they did the passenger shuttles that traveled from one continent to the next. It was unnerving. Millions of man-hours to construct the Crucible and billions dead in the Reaper invasion for…what, exactly? The Reapers were helping to rebuild. The Citadel was functional and over half the relays had been repaired. By the Reapers. And no one had a problem with that. Oh, no. The Reapers had to be catered to in all things.

The letter from Kahlee had come this morning. _Of course you're more than qualified to help with the technology we recovered from Cronos Station. It was never about that. But we're depending on the Reapers to keep out looters, and Harbinger was adamant that he didn't want you there. I hope you understand. And it's not like you won't have job offers coming out your ears._

Some victory.

There were job offers piling up. Everyone wanted to hire Commander Shepard's comm officer. Traynor had refused them. Breaking codes and developing new QECs seemed a bit boring after tracking Leng and being shot at by a Reaper. She didn't want a job from the Phoenix Group, even if Miranda were inclined to offer her one. Today's mission was strictly personal. She had discovered the envelope while scrounging the captain's quarters for anything that might be useful. She had known that it was Shepard's even before she saw the tight scrawl. He was the only person she knew old-fashioned enough to prefer pen and paper. Miranda's name on the front had been the only clue as to its contents. For once, Traynor hadn't peeked. The dead deserved their privacy. She'd been in town visiting a cousin, so it had seemed natural to ask if she could stop by Miranda's office and deliver something. Penance for temporarily losing her head.

The lobby would have been completely unremarkable except for one thing: half the staff rushing from place to place seemed to be either asari or salarian. After first contact, Henry Lawson had fought a lengthy legal battle for the right to employ only humans at his Earth office. He must've been spinning in his grave at the sight. Maybe that was why Miranda had done it. Or maybe they were the best qualified.

Miranda's office was at the top of the tower. A window covered one wall, and sunlight flooded the room. You could see all of Coff's Harbour from here. The Reaper still dominated the sky, but below it were several tasteful bungalows and thousands of people milling about as they commuted. Consoles and holographic interfaces of every conceivable type sat on the desk, flashing data streams. Miranda herself stood with her back to the door, staring out the window. She had exchanged her white jumpsuit for a tailored gray blazer that probably cost as much as Traynor made in a year. Her hair had grown out and was as lustrous as Traynor had imagined it must be. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch it. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a great idea.

Miranda turned and then Traynor knew it had been a bad idea to come here. Miranda had gained weight and lost the exhausted, harried look Traynor had seen on the _Normandy._ Her eyes were a mix of blue and gray that glittered like gemstones and seemed to contain a thousand secrets. Power that had been muted when she was injured radiated like the sunlight. "Ms. Traynor," she said with a faintly ironic smile, "a pleasure to see you again."

Traynor patted her pocket. _Remember why you're here._ "Thank you for seeing me. I know you have a busy schedule."

"I do." The irony faded and her gaze became searching and penetrative. She gestured at the Reaper. "I wonder…tell me, what do you think of our new helping hands?"

The question was such a complete non sequitur that Traynor started. So far, she seemed to be the only person uncomfortable with the new status quo. Peaceful, if paternalistic, Reapers were the fruits of victory, as necessary to the functioning of this strange new world as the keepers had been to the Citadel. Miranda might see her discomfort as a betrayal of everything Shepard had fought for. On the other hand, Shepard had always talked about how blunt Miranda was. And if Miranda didn't like her true feelings, it would be an excellent way of curing herself of this inconvenient crush. "They scare me a bit. They killed billions of us and we killed a few of them, and now they're suddenly our best friends because of a flash of blue light? It seems a little too much to believe."

"And you can't like losing your chance to analyze Cerberus technology because they said so."

"How did you know about that?"

"I have my ways." She smiled again. "You got your wish. Cerberus is no more, but I help out Admiral Hackett from time to time and he keeps me informed. These Reapers are one of the reasons I joined Cerberus. Oh no, not them directly," she said when she saw Traynor's expression. "People like our new friends. For nine years after the discovery of the mass relays, humanity still thought it was alone in the universe. We explored the galaxy freely until we encountered the Council. And then, suddenly, as fast as we expanded, we expanded where they allowed. We researched what they allowed. And what they allowed was designed to keep them in power. I thought Cerberus would be the answer, the thing that would allow us to cheat when we needed to, like the STG and the beacon on Thessia."

She sighed. "I was wrong about that, but it's still a good goal. As long as we're the weaker party, we exist at the sufferance of the powerful. I existed at the sufferance of my father. Humanity existed at the sufferance of the Council. Until we became powerful enough to flee or to stand with them as equals. Now all life exists at the sufferance of Reapers. If they decided to stop being friendly tomorrow, we would be helpless. Sanders pulled you off that project because she couldn't afford to offend them. What other concessions are we going to have to make?"

"Too many." Traynor furrowed her brow in thought. She didn't share Miranda's disdain for galactic politics, but she understood the fear of being limited by factors beyond her control. "I would have helped at Cronos. And the Reapers won't let us get anywhere near the relays to study them. After all this, we still don't know how they work. I got into science because I wanted to understand, not to play around with a bunch of black boxes."

Miranda leaned over her desk. "What if you could demystify the biggest black box of all? What if you could study these benevolent Reapers, discover how they think and what they can do? To know how to fight them if they ever stop being friendly?"

"If we could, it would be wonderful." A tingle raced up her arms. "I hated them for trying to kill me on Rannoch. But they're smarter than we are. Most of them are millions of years old. Even if they're only active for a few centuries at a time, the amount of data they must have stored is amazing. They built the relays! You bet I want to study them." She sobered. "But I don't want to end up like your friends who recovered the IFF. You'd have to develop a countermeasure."

"Such as?"

"Well, the obvious answer would be—" Her brain finally caught up with her mouth and a yawning chasm opened up in her stomach. The swift tingle of excitement was replaced by the cold sweat of fear. It couldn't be…and yet… "You found a Reaper, didn't you?"

Miranda made a show of checking her suit for lint. "As I said, I assist Admiral Hackett from time to time. He contacted me with a matter that leads me to believe developing a strategy to prevent a repeat of certain events is advisable. You may draw whatever conclusions you wish."

"You did find a Reaper." Nausea filled the pit within her, and speaking was like forcing toothpaste back into the tube. "The Reapers would kill you if they knew. Or worse. Probably."

"Quite probably." Her voice dropped to a low whisper that caressed every syllable. "But if we can study this, then it's worth the danger. We could have the knowledge of the Reapers. No more black boxes and no more dependence. They will be forced to treat us like equals instead of inferior life-forms they pat on the head. And organics could finally do what they should have done two thousand years ago and figure out how all this works. It would be the domination the Illusive Man wanted. It would be the liberation of humanity and all organic life. But I need help with that."

Traynor's breath came in short shallow gasps. Poking around with Reapers never ended well. Who was she to think she would be any different? But Miranda seemed to believe that was possible. She had already done the impossible once before. And she was offering everything that Traynor wanted in life. All that knowledge at her fingertips… Her voice slithered inside Traynor. It was also very tempting. To be of use to Miranda and do what no one else had ever done. "Give me the details."

Miranda smiled. Traynor knew that smile well. It was the same one she had a move before delivering checkmate. "The NEF has been scouting for new garden worlds away from normal relay routes. Two weeks ago, they discovered what appears to be a derelict Reaper approximately fifty light-years from what's left of batarian space. They had the sense to get the hell out of there and call Hackett. Hackett called me. When you said you had something to deliver, it seemed a natural opening to see if you were worth recruiting for this project." She cocked her head to one side. "What did you have to deliver, out of curiosity?"

Crap. She'd almost forgotten. Miranda really did have a way of turning her brain to mush. She pulled out the envelope and laid it on the desk. "I found this in the captain's quarters, addressed to you."

Miranda's face changed. Her eyes no longer glittered. Her lips were drawn in a tight line. What little color there was fled her skin. She was no longer a brilliant, not quite human figure who promised some secret knowledge. She was just one of billions of women hoping for some last words from her beloved. "John," she breathed. She took the letter, and Traynor couldn't say if her hands were trembling or if it was just a trick of the light. "Wait, there's something inside here." She dumped the contents onto the desk. A single sheet of paper and… a ring. Traynor had heard Reaper klaxons, but the clatter of diamond on metal was suddenly the loudest sound in the universe.

It wasn't a particularly fancy ring. A small diamond flanked by two sapphires. Not even particularly expensive for someone of Shepard's rank and seniority. But Traynor knew an engagement ring when she saw one. _Remember this. Remember what she was to Shepard and what Shepard was to you. There are lots of pretty, smart girls. Pick one. Just not this one._ "I'll show myself out, shall I?" She fled the office as fast as her legs would take her.

Miranda's eyes never left the ring.

* * *

"Okay, now you're just showing off," Traynor muttered under her breath. Miranda's house—mansion, really—was enormous. Traynor hadn't been precisely poor growing up on Horizon. Her family had always had enough to eat, and she'd been able to afford computers and omni-tools, even if they were secondhand. But this was obscene. A marble staircase—an actual marble staircase, like the ones in vids—swept up from the main floor to the living quarters. The prefab unit she grew up in would have fit comfortably inside the parlor. That parlor was covered with handwoven asari rugs and patent leather couches that seemed to radiate credits. On one of those couches sat Miranda.

She wore the same tailored business suit, ready to meet with the board of directors with which she nominally shared power. Something was wrong, though. She was still dressed for the part, but she wasn't the brilliant mogul of a few weeks earlier. Her eyes were downcast and her shoulders subtly hunched as she twirled the engagement ring between her fingers. Light glinted off the gold band. Miranda's lips moved silently, as if in prayer.

She looked up suddenly, and Traynor stepped back. Even wounded and exhausted, Miranda had always had a subtle air of poise. Her enthusiasm was tempered, enthusiasm leaping out from the mask of irony and good breeding the way flames escaped from behind a grate. There was a moment, the tiniest infinitesimal, fraction of a second, where the mask was not there and Traynor saw the raw grief and pain flooding her face. She had peeled that suit away from Miranda's pale skin a thousand times during boring meetings or safe in her bed. This was infinitely more intimate than merely seeing her naked. Heat poured over Traynor's cheeks and ears like lava. "Excuse me."

Between one eyeblink and the next, the mask was back in place. Miranda shoved the ring into a pocket and pasted on a smile. "Thanks for coming over. I can't stay long, but I think that between the three of us, we can hammer out something useful."

Traynor took a few calming breaths. If Miranda wanted to pretend that the last thirty seconds had never happened, then Traynor was happy to go along. "Three of us?"

"Ah, that's right. You've never actually met my sister, have you? Ori! Samantha Traynor is here."

The woman who came down the stairs was exactly like Miranda except that she was completely different. She was about fifteen years younger than Miranda. They had the same dark hair, blue-grey eyes, and strong jaw, but that was where the similarities ended. Oriana's eyes sparkled with humor, and there was no trace of Miranda's faintly mocking irony. Her face was unlined, and her movements had an easy confidence instead of Miranda's regal deliberation. Used to comfort but not to command.

She held out a hand. "I'm Oriana." Her accent was rougher, a touch closer to the flowing vowels Traynor had grown up with before she polished her voice to an Oxford shine. "And you're the woman who brought the _Normandy_ to Sanctuary. Thanks for that."

Traynor shifted awkwardly. It still didn't feel like heroism. "Just doing my job."

"Still, thanks."

"My sister insists on helping us." Every syllable was as crisp and cold as new-fallen snow, and Traynor had the feeling Miranda was only just restraining herself from tying her sister up and locking her in a padded room. The image made her smile. "Unfortunately, she's exactly as good a computer specialist as she thinks she is."

"This is my homeworld too, you know. What good is it if I'm supersmart if I don't do anything with it?"

Miranda sighed, but let Oriana sit beside her, and Traynor threw herself into the armchair opposite them. Nice and cozy. The lights dimmed, and the holographic image of a capital Reaper appeared. "As best we can tell, we and the NEF crew who discovered it are the only ones aware of the ship's existence. The crew's silence has been bought very generously, and Hackett wants to figure out what made the Reapers change so drastically and any weaknesses they might have, so we can expect negligible Alliance interference. We need good data quickly, and we need to keep our research secure, but the priority is minimizing the risk of indoctrination. We don't even know if this thing was hit by the signal from the Crucible."

"Could we set up a space station as close as we dared get? Use off-the-shelf parts?" Oriana asked thoughtfully. "That's what Cerberus did before they went completely crazy, right?"

Miranda ground her teeth. "You know entirely too much about what Cerberus was like. But yes, nondescript stations were our preferred bases. They're also extremely expensive. Not so much the construction as upkeep. The second-biggest item in my Lazarus budget was the catering. Moving that many people and keeping them fed and housed isn't cheap."

"Didn't Cerberus set up their base inside of a derelict Reaper?" Oriana asked with a furrowed brow. "That seems kind of dumb."

Miranda grimaced. "The more important the project, the faster the Illusive Man wanted results. It led to corner-cutting stupidity. At least I hope that it was merely stupidity."

The hairs on the back of Traynor's neck stood up as a chill filled the air. "What do you mean 'you hope?'"

"We know that Reaper indoctrination affects mental processes. A husk can be created rapidly, but a useful, intelligent thrall takes time. At least that's the theory." Anxiety flickered in her eyes and lined her face. "The Reaper may present some initial compulsion that requires the potential subjects to behave stupidly as possible. Kenson knew what she had. It didn't help."

"And the Cerberus team didn't leave even after things got weird." Oriana pursed her lips in thought. "Maybe it makes them docile, makes them not want to leave or find a way to break it? And then of course, the Reaper gets its metal tentacles into their brains, and the next thing you know, they're all husks."

Traynor's mind whirred. It was only a theory, but it was an uncannily plausible one that might explain other things too. "Suppose… suppose they're indoctrinating us now. Not like they were before, making us worship them, but just making us lazy. Letting us do things for them, even though they were shooting at us a few months back."

"Or it's just a defense mechanism. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. It will take the Reapers at least three years to get the relay network back up and running at optimal capacity. It would take us three hundred." Miranda smiled bitterly. "Don't forget that these are the same people who found the Citadel and the relays and never bothered to figure out how they work."

"Either way, it's got to stop." Oriana's fingers dug into her palm. "Even if they aren't blasting us from orbit anymore, the best we can hope for is to be treated like the family dog. Roll over, Fido. Good boy. No we can't explain why we're castrating you, but it's for your own good. At worst, they've decided to treat their cattle a little better before slaughter. And I'm hoping to be something bigger in life than a domestic animal."

They lapsed into silence. Pets. That was what they were. If the Reapers had their way, the operation of the relays would be as inscrutable as ever. They were still being herded along a predetermined path that they did not understand. That path might be good or bad, but it was the mystery of things that was galling.

"You'd have to use VI-assisted drones to get readings from the Reaper," Miranda said at last. "The farther anything with a brain is from that thing, the better."

"But they would need direction, a human operator." Traynor glanced from the hologram to Oriana and back again. No vast, ancient life-form would defeat her. She was the best comm specialist ever to come out of Merton College. Wait, comms. Of course! Data was data whatever the form. Comm buoys would take too long to transmit, but she knew better than anyone that that wasn't the only way to get information from one point to another.

"What about a QEC? If you could build some kind of automated refueling station and command center to serve as a hub, the operator could transmit directions. The command center would then broadcast to the drones via radio. The drones would then broadcast the data back to the center, and the center would transmit the data back to us at regular intervals. No humans have to leave Earth."

And in her mind's eye, she could see the thing. Drones whizzing back and forth, uncovering the secrets that the Reapers had so jealously guarded for millennia. A human safely ensconced in an office far away from danger directing them as a conductor directed an orchestra. It could work. No, it would work.

Miranda studied her carefully, but Traynor returned her gaze. She was awkward and flustered when it came to her crush, but nobody knew QECs like she did. Let her find fault in Traynor's reasoning if she dared.

Finally, Miranda nodded slowly. "It could be done. Expensive, but less conspicuous than the station. Less risky, too. The NEF was out there studying dark energy phenomena similar to Haestrom. If I announce that the Phoenix Group is continuing their research, we look good for acknowledging alien scientific contributions and doing theoretical research with no Cerberus taint. All we have to do is dedicate a percentage of the drones to actually studying the star, and it's the perfect cover."

She smiled, and it was like the unfurling of a ship's sail. Open and unguarded with the pure joy of discovery. It made Traynor a little dizzy just looking at her. "Those Reapers aren't going to know what hit them. Let's get to work."

* * *

All was quiet in the laboratory. Months of work had finally paid off. The first probe was about to make contact with the Reaper. In the future, drone operation would be handled by others and Traynor would return to her normal world of data crunching. But this device had been her creation and she was bloody well going to test drive it. She was mostly alone here at Miranda's insistence, but the Phoenix Group building was filled with the men and women - most human, but many not - Miranda had recruited to help them fathom the unfathomable. Tension filled the air, but it was the good sort of tension that accompanied any waiting for results data.

The VR overlay wasn't that different from arranging your fleet in _Solar Civilizations IV._ Holographic representations of the test drone and its position relative to the command hub and the Reaper dominated her vision, with a HUD display directly underneath. "Starting final approach. Approach coordinates 362.719. Begin preliminary drive core scan."

There was nothing to do but watch as the probe zoomed toward the drive core. And now Traynor had the time to notice all the things she hadn't before. Miranda stood directly behind her, watching the probe's progress on the monitor. She was perfectly still and silent, a technician's dream of an observer. You wouldn't even know she was there. Unless you were Traynor. Traynor could feel the heat of her, smell the scent of jasmine that clung to her. Her mind felt shaky, precarious. She wanted to rush off in two directions at once. Watch as her dreams of hidden knowledge unfolded. Turn around and shag Miranda senseless right there in the lab until they were both happy and satisfied.

Well, one of those was infinitely more plausible at the moment. Traynor returned her attention to the monitor.

The drone inched closer to the Reaper shell. Traynor forgot Miranda, forgot everything except for the probe and the Reaper. So much was riding on this, and so much could go wrong. She had designed the communication systems herself, but even a perfect system was susceptible to mechanical failure. What if they had wasted billions of credits because didn't install a heating valve properly? What if the scanning technology Weber had developed was faulty? Dear God, what if the Reaper woke up?

They would know in a moment. "Beginning preliminary drive core scan." Traynor plunged through the Reaper airlock. It didn't wake up. Numbers raced across the bottom of the screen. Useful data. Useful data from a Sovereign-class Reaper! She could hardly wait to begin analysis. For now, though, "_Excelsior 1 _has made contact. Repeat. _Excelsior 1 _has made contact."

A cheer went up over the loudspeaker. Later, maybe, Traynor would be so overjoyed that she couldn't contain it. Right now, though, she felt the quiet, certain thrill of accomplishment. The Reapers weren't gods or magic. They operated according to natural laws. They would include be understood. Like all mysteries, they would fade away before the light of investigation. And Traynor would be the one holding the torch.

A warm weight fell on her shoulder, and Traynor tensed under it. Miranda always had been a bit of a contradiction. Her skin was soft and smooth like the executive she now pretended to be, but the strength in her grip suggested her years as an operative. It was a heady combination.

"I would give you a speech about the new era for humanity we're launching, but I was never much for inspiring people. So, good work." Her hand shifted slightly, so that her fingers were brushing against the bare skin of Traynor's neck. Probably just an accident, the sort of casual touch you wouldn't notice unless Miranda was involved and you were as mental as Traynor. That didn't stop electricity from racing up and down her body._ Don't think about shagging your boss… don't think about shagging your boss…_

No such luck. It would be so easy rise, turn to her, and throw her against the wall. She wasn't as genetically flawless as Miranda, but she knew what she was doing. She could make Miranda crazy, too. All it would take was a few minutes.

And then what? That ring never left Miranda's pocket for long. All Traynor would accomplish was making a fool of herself and losing the chance to work on the most important scientific project since the Crucible. That was the important thing. She willed the spike of lust back down. If she were so bloody crazy with the need for sex, then there were ways to deal with it. A vibrator. iPartners. She couldn't look up the Excelsior Project on a dating site.

Miranda's fingers roamed her bare skin. Subtly. At first, Traynor thought she was imagining it. But they were moving. Miranda's breath was shallow and even. "So long," she murmured. "Getting so sick of it."

_So long?_ _Sick of what?_ But asking Miranda to clarify would have meant breaking the spell that was making her caress Traynor. So she luxuriated in her touch and tolerated the confusion. She concentrated. This was its own kind of data, and every touch let her refine her fantasies until it was the real woman she dreamed of and not just a construct pulled out of her head. So she analyzed. Miranda pressed a little harder with her middle finger than the rest of her hand. Long strokes alternated with short. And so on.

Miranda pulled her hand back slowly and deliberately, and Traynor fought not to inhale sharply. "Thank you," Miranda said softly. "For your work." And for another eyeblink, the mask fell away, and that awful, naked pain that Traynor didn't know how to soothe was laid bare once more. It was unfair to be the one who saw Shepard and now Miranda like this. She fixed comm systems. She had no idea how to fix people.

* * *

_I am profoundly indebted to my beta themarshal and flemm an Ieldra of BSN for making this story as good as it is. This story is complete in its entirety and Part 2 will be posted Tuesday evening/Wednesday morning._


	2. Part 2

_I trust no one minds early posting?_

* * *

Science was long days of hard slogs, punctuated by brief bursts of discovery. And there had been nothing but slogging for weeks. They had finally made their way into the Reaper's central processing unit. It was a computer of vast complexity, the sort powerful enough to allow the Crucible to perform 3.6 million calculations in a microsecond. But, like the human Reaper recovered from Cronos, it was inert. The Reaper brain might have been the greatest computer ever created, but it was one whose programs seemed to function only to keep the thing in space. Whatever minds had been pulped and fed into that shell had ceased to respond long ago.

Oriana glared at the monitor, as if she could create something useful by sheer force of will. "Great. All that time and money to establish that the thing is dead. Which we knew."

"Run around an engine room crawling with husks, and you find out pretty quickly that it's hard to tell a dead Reaper from a live one," Miranda said dryly. "Though it's not what I wanted to find out."

Traynor looked down at the datapads. Oriana was right. Discovering so very little was far too much like defeat. It was an insult to good science. "Henry bloody Lawson knew more about the Reapers than we did. I refuse to be beaten by a man who ran his own his own personal death camp." Rage carried her forward and Traynor forgot who she was talking to. "He and the Illusive Man created their own private army and a signal for control. We're not crazy, so we can do better than that."

The sight of Miranda's face brought Traynor back to reality. She was suddenly pale as a ghost, and her fingers trembled. "Ori, I want you to leave Ms. Traynor and myself alone for a moment." When Oriana didn't immediately leave she added, "Now."

Oriana left, her gaze anxious and slightly panicky and she closed the door behind her. Traynor felt cold. Now she'd done it. Henry Lawson had been a monster who had turned Traynor's home into a killing field, but she had still been Miranda's father. It would be a bloody miracle if Miranda didn't sack her right now.

But what Miranda said was, "How much do you know about my father's experiments?"

The precise details of Sanctuary had been classified, but people talked. People always talked. "I know that he created husks without the use of dragon's teeth and that he controlled them with a signal."

"And husk control was as far as he got. At least in the testing stage. But this morning, some, let's call them colleagues in the AIA, salvaged this from what was left of the Cronos video archives. The work is going exceedingly slowly—I think they deliberately assigned their most incompetent people—but they do eventually make progress." She switched on her omni-tool and a small, grainy video appeared.

The Illusive Man sat on the edge of an examining table, surrounded by surgical equipment. He had discarded his trademark suit jacket for a plain white shirt with the collar undone and the sleeves rolled up. The only other person in the room was a blonde in a lab coat with her back to the camera.

"This is insane, sir. You remember what happened to Saren when he allowed himself to be implanted with Reaper technology?"

"But Jenna," the Illusive Man said with a patient smile, "I'm not permitting the Reapers to implant me with anything. The prototype Henry developed will allow me to broadcast my thoughts to the Reapers the way he broadcast commands to his test subjects. But he was quite clear: a merely human mind could never handle the strain. I must become something more. I must partake of the Reaper nature and master it. These implants will allow me to do that. They're the last, best hope of the human race. All we need now is the Crucible."

Miranda switched off the recording. "We know that the Illusive Man and a detachment of Cerberus soldiers headed for the Citadel just before the Reapers moved it. Until now, I didn't know precisely what they planned to accomplish. But now I know. All we ever knew about the Crucible was that it would release a staggering amount of energy when fired. It could've been used as a signal booster to broadcast the Illusive Man's commands. If he moved the battle to a time and place of his choosing, he could use it as cover for seizing the Citadel and using the Crucible for his own ends."

Traynor's mouth went dry. She had never known the Illusive Man, but she knew Teltin, Akuze, and Binthu. She knew Sanctuary. She had heard how casually he had ordered Eva to murder Ashley. And for what? Some perversion of human advancement? "You don't think he succeeded, do you? Shepard made it to the beam. Maybe Shepard stopped him."

"The Reapers are still here. They're making us stupid, but they aren't killing us. What else am I to think except that they have new marching orders? The Illusive Man and my father lusted after power and control." Her voice turned cold and bitter. "Well, we've certainly shown ourselves as willing to be ruled, haven't we?"

"But that doesn't mean that that sadist is the ruler. Maybe Shepard was the one who took control."

"No!" Miranda said with such force that Traynor took an involuntary step back. "You don't know how much he hated the Reapers. They took Kaidan from him. They took—" She winced at some painful memory. "—He sacrificed everything he was to defeat them. He wouldn't settle for anything less than ending the threat once and for all. He'd roll over in his grave to see us so docile."

She bowed her head, and her shoulders and arms were stiff with tension. Traynor felt the familiar twist of helplessness. Something had to be said, some comforting word. Shepard had always been so good at this. But Shepard had been broken, too, and now he was dead and unable to comfort anyone. "He didn't sacrifice everything. He still had you."

Miranda laughed, but it was a brittle, hollow thing, straight out of a nightmare. "But I didn't have him. He might as well have been a ghost." Her head yanked up as if it was being pulled by a chain. "I may be completely off track," she said briskly. "I want you to scan for the frequency my father used. If my hypothesis is correct, his work may be the key to solving this. The one decent thing he ever did."

* * *

Miranda didn't sleep that night. She didn't do much of anything. Technical reports swam before her eyes; she saw words, but didn't comprehend them. Even listening to Nielsen gave no comfort. She had been like this only once before, when Oriana had been kidnapped. It was a lesson for her: she was better off not loving things because when those things were threatened she lost her mind. She became a thing of animal passion focused only on their retrieval. The Reaper War had been a blur besides getting Oriana to safety. And now Traynor was concocting wild theories about Shepard.

_What if he took control?_ The idea incensed her. This would have been a betrayal of everything John had fought for. He had been thuggish and brutal when he awoke on Lazarus Station: punching reporters and shamelessly lying to shopkeepers to receive discounts. But he had been powerful, a virtuoso on the battlefield. It had been Miranda's job to channel that power. She had explained the ideals of the real Cerberus—no, she corrected herself, the ideals of what she had_ believed_ to be the real Cerberus—and he had embraced the notion of fighting for a better and more independent humanity with the fervor of a religious convert. Later, he had loved her. No, Shepard wouldn't have set in motion this pathetic paternalism.

Not that she had known him well once the war began in earnest. The Reaper's arrival had transformed him. The man who had been so full of violent emotion that she had despaired of getting through any mission that required stealth or diplomatic tact had become distant and cold. He still said the right things: promise me you'll be careful, I'll always want you in my life, etc. etc. but his voice had been hollow and perfunctory. They had made love exactly once, and that had only made Miranda wonder what it had been like for those men she had found through iPartners. She couldn't even really blame John. Lots of soldiers cracked under the strain, but none of them had been the only thing standing between all organic life and annihilation. Going to see a psychiatrist wasn't an option for war heroes.

She took the ring on her for pocket and placed it on the desk. Despite everything, he had hoped for some kind of future with her. Perhaps it was nothing more than the desperate Hail Mary of a drowning man, but he had believed healing was possible once the war was over. Except that the Reapers were still here. The Reapers had taken the man she loved twice over: first the soul and then the body and left his work undone. It had been almost a year since his death, but how could she lay him to rest as long as they were still out there?

If she had gone through the last war in a haze of grief and panic, she was determined to do her part in this one. She couldn't get on with the business of celebrating and living just yet, as much as Traynor might wish otherwise. As much as she might wish otherwise. It had been almost fun at first, watching Traynor salivate with obvious interest. She would never have betrayed John for something so petty, but being desired by a beautiful, young, brilliant woman had been a sop to her pride after being stabbed by Leng. She had reveled in the attention. And then John had died, and Miranda had thrown herself into her work and brought Traynor along for the ride. She was still flattered by the desire the comm specialist tried and failed to hide, but she was even less free to act on it. Duty imprisoned her. She had slipped only once, caressing Traynor's neck on launch day when the isolation became too much to bear. It had been so long since anyone but Ori had touched her kindly, and Miranda had given in to temptation. Traynor's skin had been hot and smooth. Perfect. It would have been so easy to lose herself in her and become a human being once more. But duty called.

The ring caught the lamplight. Promises for the future indeed. "When this is over," she murmured, "I'll ask her to dinner. Just need to finish this."

Her doorbell rang. "It's me," Traynor said, her voice tinged with more than a hint of anxiety. "I did the scans you asked and... and can I come in? I don't know how to explain this over the comm."

Miranda opened the door, heart pounding, and Traynor scurried inside. Her hair was a flyaway mess, and she hadn't bothered with makeup. Her eyes, though, were fever bright with what Miranda was coming to realize was the excitement of a breakthrough. "You were right! I calibrated the scans to search for the frequency used at Sanctuary." The words tumbled out of her like a waterfall. "And there was a signal being transmitted to the derelict Reaper. It was fainter than what Henry was producing at Sanctuary, but otherwise it's an exact match. Someone is controlling the Reapers."

Miranda's brain went into operative mode. Feelings fled, leaving only facts behind. "Can you trace the signal?"

Traynor smiled with grim pride. "Remember who you're talking to. It's definitely the Citadel. If I could actually get on the station, I could narrow it down more." She sobered. "But that wasn't the thing that had me rushing here in the middle of the night. I ran the content of the signal's transmission through every linguistic program in existence. And it wasn't a garbled mess. There were directives. And your name was mentioned."

"My name?"

Traynor cleared her throat. "'Protect organics from their own folly. Make humanity flourish. Miranda Lawson is not to be harmed. Let her mind remain unaltered.'"

The floor fell out from under Miranda. Here at last was the confirmation that the Reapers were indoctrinating still. And the Reapers took a personal interest in her. She wasn't sure which terrified her more. "Wonderful. I have my own personal Harbinger." No time for fear or distress. Humanity was depending on her. "We need to narrow down the location. Give me your data, and I'll head to the Citadel right now."

"Shouldn't we inform someone? The provisional Council?"

Miranda shook her head. "If the controller had to specify that my mind was to remain unaltered, then everyone else is suspect. I have to do this on my own, at least for now."

Traynor stared at her and swallowed. "Then I'm coming with you. You might be Miss Perfect, but I'm still the best at signal tracking in Council space. You need me."

It was Miranda's turn to stare. The poor, besotted civilian, her head filled with romantic notions. "I'm heading into the bowels of the Citadel, chasing after the Illusive Man. You don't have to follow me."_ Not for the sake of some foolish infatuation. Please, don't ask this of me. I can't give you what you want, no matter how much you deserve it._

"Oh, but I do. I know you don't think much of us Alliance types, but we take our promises seriously. And I promised a long time ago that I would do everything I could to protect humanity. I can barely hit the side of the building, but mind control signals are definitely in my department. So lead on, princess. You're stuck with me."

* * *

This section of the tunnels wasn't even big enough for the two of them to walk abreast, so Traynor had taken point. Miranda's breasts pressed into Traynor's back. They were the high and firm, and some part of Traynor's brain must have been analyzing the sensations and refining the fantasy. That would be the part of her brain that was busy trying not to vomit while tracking a signal. The keeper tunnels were a maze of twisting passages that led everywhere or nowhere depending on how familiar you were with the innards of the Citadel. There were no traces of the corpses Shepard had described during his last communication before his death, but a foul smell choked the air and an oppressive heat emanated from the walls.

"Are you sure you have the right spot?" Miranda said between pants.

Traynor looked down at her omni-tool. "That's what my calculations say. The signal is originating from this point." She glared at the bare wall. "But that's not helping us at the moment, is it?"

"No, it isn't." Miranda buried her forehead in Traynor's shoulder. A jolt raced through Traynor. There was definitely a part of her brain still devoted to the cataloging and analysis of All Things Miranda. "Damn it!" Miranda murmured. "I will not let that bastard had the last word. I should have stopped him a long time ago, I should have seen what he was. He used Jacob. He used John. And I let him use me."

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" Miranda gave the same hollow laugh. "I was his second-in-command. When a cell went rogue, I put them down. He was my responsibility." She made a contemptuous sound in the back of her throat. "But no, I spend the entire war worrying about my sister and stumble into Sanctuary by accident! _Accident! _ And now, the Illusive Man has his Reaper army. "

They came to a wider area, and Traynor took a few steps forward and turned to face her. The pain that lined Miranda's face was different this time: rawer, fresher, deeper. Guilt and exhaustion stole her beauty in a way that grief never could. She was simply an ordinary woman. A brilliant, driven woman, but only a woman. "You know, when we first met, I wondered how all things you did as the Hound of Hell could be balanced out. And I still don't know." She tilted Miranda's chin up. "But I do know that you and I are the only people down here fighting this. Nothing we did before matters, good or bad. Just this. So let's fight."

Miranda managed a watery smile. "Someone has been listening to entirely too many of the patented Shepard speeches." She straightened her shoulders, and gathered poise around her like a cloak. The wounded queen. "But you're right. You atone by fixing your mistakes, not by feeling sorry for yourself. And I have a hell of a mistake to fix."

_I am not a mistake. I am the solution._

Traynor's head snapped up. She had not so much heard the voice as felt it: a cold, metallic _thing_ that echoed in her head. It wasn't human, but it wasn't like Legion either. If she had been asked to describe it at all, she would have said that it was the voice of God. "Did you—"

"Yeah," Miranda whispered, "I did." Then with a force and bravado Traynor certainly didn't share, "What are you, and what do you want?"

_I am the Controller. I protect organic life from itself. I see that the cataclysm the Reapers were created to prevent never comes to pass. I allow life to keep its own form and continue. I protect you, Miranda. Turn back now._

"Protect me from having your Reapers turn me into a nice little sheep like the rest of humanity, you mean. I'm flattered, but I didn't tolerate your plans for dominance when they involved jamming Reaper tech into people, and I won't tolerate them now. You may have stopped Shepard, but I'm still here."

_You believe I stopped Shepard? I am his fulfillment. As magnificent as you are, you are nothing but an infinitesimal cog in the cosmic machine. You cannot understand my ways. _ The voice paused, as if in thought. _But I can understand yours. If I become mortal once more, I can explain it to you. He can explain it to you. Come, you who would undo my work. And you, who covet what he once loved so dearly._

A panel in the wall slid away, revealing a path flooded with blinding white light._ Come._

Traynor could never recall a conscious choice to light pulled at her like a magnet and drew her ever forward. Miranda's footsteps echoed behind her. Ice prickled along her skin. She was afraid, but it wasn't the blind terror of fleeing Earth or even the horrible uncertainty of finding her place on the _Normandy_, a civilian surrounded by marines. This was more like thepit in her stomach before she took the aptitude test that would determine whether or not she got a scholarship. Two roads diverged before her: the mundane but also a sublime realm that contained everything she ever wanted. All she had to do was be smart and brave enough to take it.

The path led to a room about the size of the Council Chambers and perfectly circular. At regular spaces along the wall stood metal pillars arcing with electricity. A platform rose up out of the ground to form a makeshift dais in the center of the room. And at the center of that dais was Commander Shepard, his hair once more close shaven and his dress uniform as immaculate as if the Reaper War had never happened.

Traynor stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Rescue teams had searched for days for any sign him or Anderson. They hadn't found so much as a dog tag or DNA sample. And here was Shepard alive again. He looked solid and real. No sign of hologram emitters or anything else they could explain the sight before her. She didn't believed in miracles, and she didn't feel any more insane than she had five minutes earlier.

"Look at me." His voice sounded normal, too. He extended his hand toward Miranda. "Touch me. I'm real. I'm here."

Miranda stood rooted to the spot. "No, you're not John," she rasped. "John's dead." Then, a little louder, "How dare you use his face. It'll take more than that to intimidate me, Controller."

Pain flashed across Shepard's—or whoever the hell it was—face. "No, Miranda it's me. I'm here. Don't you get it? We won. I'm the Controller."

The astonishment metamorphosed into horror. Traynor had tossed out the idea that Shepard may have taken control of the Reapers in much the same way she might have suggested the Alliance invest more in proprietary software: without real expectation that it was true. Shepard had been beaten down, cynical, and distant, but the engagement ring that had caused Traynor so much grief was proof that he hadn't completely given up hope._ I'll be so glad when this war is over._ Well, wasn't using the Reapers tantamount to treason? No, Shepard couldn't have sunk so low.

Miranda shook her head frantically. "You couldn't have." Her voice was like glass a hairsbreadth away from breaking. "You wanted the Reaper's dead. We all did."

"The war showed me a thing or two. The salarians were willing to let the Reapers wipe us all out so long as they didn't have the worry about the krogan wiping them out in a thousand years. The quarians got themselves wiped out because they couldn't think about anything but wiping out geth for five seconds. These people shouldn't be running so much as a lemonade stand, let alone the galaxy. The Crucible gave me the chance to impose order. So I did."

Traynor swallowed. Okay, so Shepard's stint as a cat herder/diplomat had left him that bitter. Or crazy. "So you're indoctrinating us?"

His eyes blazed with cold anger. "I'm keeping idiots from poking around technology they don't understand. If organics advance too much, then my Reapers won't be able to keep them in check, and they'll just blow each other up. People like me and you are the only thing keeping galactic civilization from going to hell in a handbasket. You taught me that, Miranda. Somebody has to do the dirty jobs to keep the galaxy safe."

Miranda shuddered, as if a jolt of electricity had passed through her body. "I never taught you to lord over people like this, to make them stupid. Cerberus was about pushing the boundaries to keep humanity safe and strong. You're doing just the opposite. You're enslaving us."

"They look safe enough to me. And I left you and Ori alone. I don't want slaves or worshipers. I'm not asking you to let me destroy the galaxy: I'm asking you to let me save it. I'll give you anything you ever wanted. All the knowledge in the galaxy. I can show you how to cure your infertility. The Lazarus Project was child's play compared to what I know how to do. I can download a piece of my mind into a flesh shell. I kind of miss having a body. We could be together again. We can have a family, a real one."

He stepped off the dais and extended his hand again. "Please, Miranda." It was not Shepard's voice now, not fully. Something else spoke alongside him, ancient, powerful, and inhuman.

Miranda took a step forward. Another. She trembled as she walked, and her eyes were glassy like Sleeping Beauty moving inexorably toward the cursed spinning wheel. And there were no Prince Charmings nearby. There was only Traynor, who didn't even qualify as Miranda's true love. But she was here and the true love had gone crazy anyway.

"Stop!" she shouted. Miranda did freeze. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Nothing to do but keep rambling. "You don't want what he's offering. Not on those terms. You spent I don't know how many credits setting up Excelsior. He promises you everything you ever wanted, but he can't give you what you've been fighting for ever since you were a teenager: a free and independent humanity."

"Jealous, Traynor?" said the thing that wore Shepard's face with a sneer that never would have crossed the real man's lips. "Just because you can't get into her pants doesn't mean that you can keep her from getting what she really wants. Don't listen to her, Miranda."

Miranda blinked. "But she's right. It's not marriage and children that I risked my life for. It wasn't even Oriana. It was humanity as a whole. John knew that. So get out, you bloody imposter. You're no better than my father."

The thing recoiled as if Miranda had slapped it. Shepard's voice was gone, replaced by that mechanical sound. _He loved you. I had hoped that love would be sufficient to make you understand. But I see now that other methods will be required._ It raised a hand. The energy arcing along the pillars turned pale green. _I will make you understand. I will make you into what he wanted._ It lowered its hand like a referee beginning a race. The energy shot toward Miranda.

Time slowed. Miranda and Oriana had thanked her for saving them. She had only been doing her job. She hadn't been a hero. But sometimes you had to be, even if you were just a mousy comm specialist with a crush on her boss. Sometimes you had to jump in front of the weird energy beam and save the girl.

Traynor jumped.

Senses that she didn't have five seconds ago flooded her with data. Thoughts raced through her head like electricity, too fast for her to catch them. She became an avatar of knowledge and power, as far beyond what she had been as calculus was beyond arithmetic.

And then there was infinity.

* * *

"The good news is that whatever that beam did, Traynor's still alive, and she's probably not indoctrinated." Oriana sounded serious for once, which unnerved Miranda far more than any grave-faced doctor would have. "Brain activity is off the charts, and it's not consistent with any of the autopsies we have of indoctrinated people."

Miranda nodded. She heard the words and processed them, but there was a part of her that wasn't in this office. She was in that mysterious room. The Controller—she refused to think of him as John—worming its way into her mind and promising to fulfill all her secret hopes. Traynor leaping in front of the beam meant for her. Metallic screams and flashing lights as she carried the unconscious woman into the tunnels. Struggling to find the Wards. Three days spent pacing in a hospital room owned by a Phoenix Group subsidiary.

"What are we going to do now?"

"There's a coma specialist in Seattle that I trust. Maybe he can do something for Traynor."

"I mean, what are we going to do about Shepard?"

What indeed? How did you contend against a god that wore your beloved's face? She wondered if the Controller had been telling the truth and John had chosen this or if it had corrupted him. She didn't want to believe there was any continuity between the man who had loved her and the creature so cavalier about controlling minds. She didn't want to believe the man who had given her his ring was so much like Henry and herself in her worst moments. That ring was in a safe deposit box in Melbourne. Perhaps someday she would look at it again. It wouldn't be any time soon.

"Whatever we do is going to have to be sneaky. But I'm used to working in the shadows. I promise you that I'll do something. No techno-god is going to rule humanity while I'm still alive."

Oriana cracked a brittle smile. "That's my sister. Always going for the easy stuff. Now get out of here and visit Traynor like I know you want to."

Miranda had secured a private room at the top floor once used by celebrities seeking privacy. The steady, rhythmic beep of medical equipment filled the air, and the smell of antiseptic assaulted Miranda's nostrils. Traynor looked terribly young and fragile lying alone on the bed. Miranda bit back a curse. Stupid thing to do. Miranda was an agent willing to die for humanity, for her cause, for her sister. But no one took the bullet for her. Except Traynor had. Lust or love had made her stupid, just as Miranda's love for Oriana had made her stupid. And it was a thousand times worse knowing that someone was willing to die for you than it ever was being the one who was willing to die.

She pulled up a chair and grasped Traynor's hand in hers. Her flesh was warm, almost feverish, as if life bubbled just beneath the surface and was struggling to get out. She was smooth and soft, as much a pleasure to stroke as she had been the day of Excelsior's launch. Miranda indulged herself because there was no one to tell her otherwise. There were those who said interaction with coma patients could start them to wakefulness. If she could somehow bridge the gap between them, she was honorbound to do whatever it took. She missed the easy touches and kisses of intimacy. And John was worse than dead now.

"You deserve better, you know," she said as she stroked her hand. "Throwing your life away for the Hound of Hell? Honestly, did they teach you anything at Oxford? Why couldn't you have fallen for a nice girl like Chambers?" She ran a finger down the back of Traynor's hand.

Traynor didn't wake up, but the beeping became louder and more frequent as her brain activity spiked. Miranda picked up the pace with her caresses. The universe was a hard and cruel place, and she had become hard and cruel to match. But the civilian who had followed her into hell deserved better. "You like it when I touch you, do you? Imagining doing terribly filthy things to me, I'm sure. Well, it's time to stop imagining and come back to me." She pressed her forehead against Traynor's hand. "There's a storm coming. I'm going to need humanity's best and brightest. I need you. Not just for the sake of Phoenix Group. You and Ori are pretty much all I have left now. So, wake up."

And incredibly, the hand twitched. Miranda jumped back in shock. Traynor's hand kept moving. The beeping was a cacophony now, a harsh symphony that testified to Traynor's struggle toward wakefulness. Her eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. Miranda watched in wonder as they opened. These were not Traynor's eyes. These were streaked with green like veins of marble. "Miranda?" she whispered.

"Yes," Miranda returned. If Traynor could wake up after all this like some fairytale princess then perhaps the universe yet possessed some measure of grace and mercy. Perhaps there was some hope against the techno-god. "I'm here."

She moved her head feebly. "Where am I?" Her voice was still rusty from disuse, but her lips quirked upward into a mischievous grin. "Don't tell me. I'm dying and you're about to give me my last kiss while I tearfully confess my love?"

Something broke inside Miranda and hot tears poured down her face for the first time since the event. She cried for John and for herself. But she cried for Traynor being alive again too. There was a storm coming, but there will be a new dawn as well. For all of them. She would make sure of it.

And if Traynor was waking from an enchanted sleep, then there was only one thing left to do. She leaned over and brushed her lips against Traynor's. They were dry, chapped and tasted of all sorts of unpleasant things, but Miranda didn't notice any of that. She pressed as hard as she dared. Perhaps she wasn't even capable of feeling what Traynor felt for her, but it was worth a go. Warmth sprang up inside her and old scabs on her heart fell away. Traynor brought her hand up as much as she was able. Miranda pulled it the rest of the way, letting her stroke her hair. Traynor made a strange little sound halfway between a sigh and a sob.

Miranda pulled back to look Traynor in the eye. Very soon there would be questions to ask and tests to run about the mysterious green light running through her eyes. The Controller had spoken of transformation, but what sort of transformation and whether it would help or harm the war effort remained to be seen. That was all in the future. For now, Traynor was alive and Miranda was no longer a ghost. That would have to suffice.

"You're in a hospital in the Wards. You're safe," Miranda said with a smile. "And you're with me."

* * *

_Well, it's done. Any interest in a sequel, either relationship or war focused?_


End file.
